


At The Very Least

by soupypictures



Category: One Direction (Band)
Genre: Alternate Universe - Football, Angst, Bi-Erasure, Biphobia, Internalized Biphobia, M/M, bit of a sexuality crisis, larrie-free content, that all seems very dire but liam is a good boyfriend
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2018-06-06
Updated: 2018-06-06
Packaged: 2019-05-19 01:01:42
Rating: Mature
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 2,025
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/14863688
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/soupypictures/pseuds/soupypictures
Summary: Louis Tomlinson, who plays soccer (ugh, he knows) for the Houston Dynamo, is caught out with his live-in boyfriend Liam Payne and has to come to terms with his sexuality—because everyone else has decided to name it for him.





	At The Very Least

**Author's Note:**

  * For [KelliDiane](https://archiveofourown.org/users/KelliDiane/gifts).



> For KelliDiane. I wrote this as a pinch-hitter. My first-ever romantic Lilo! I hope you enjoy, and I hope the sports details don’t throw you off but they say write what you know so here we are.
> 
> disclaimer: author knows that her story is fictional and she does not intend for anyone to actually believe that it is true.

It’s still dark outside when Liam is startled awake. He’s confused, unsure if it was a sound or movement that woke him—

“For _fuck’s_ sake!”

—sound it is.

“Time’s it?” Liam snuffles, eyes still closed. 

“It’s June.”

Liam’s melatonin-soaked brain struggles with that answer. He sighs deeply and rolls over, blinking his eyes open to the view of his bed partner’s back. There’s a bright liminal glow highlighting his silhouette, the dip of his waist. Liam has a vivid sense-memory of how his hands fit there, what it felt like mere hours ago to hold him there steady and— “You shouldn’t be looking at a screen, it’s too early.” Liam makes a swipe at the device and nearly gets an elbow to the jaw for his trouble. “Come on, Lou, whatever it is can wait. Sleep now.”

“It’s June, so they want to do an _event_ at a home match this month and they want me to speak. Louis Tomlinson, the token _gay_ footballer.”

Ah. _June_.

Liam is awake enough to snatch the phone, darken the screen, and let it drop to the carpeted floor on his side of the bed. Louis makes a noise of protest but Liam catches him close as he makes the reach for his phone. “Sleep now, worry later.” 

There’s fight even in Louis resting his head on Liam’s chest, his kiss to Liam’s skin, and especially his tortured whisper, “ _I’m not gay_.”

\---

But that’s what it looks like, isn’t it?

He’d come over to Major League Soccer— _soccer_ , he hisses, _this place is obsessed with an inferior sport they call football_ —when he’d found himself on the outs at his previous club. Was politics, Liam tells him, not his fault, but Louis knows better. It’s always his fault. Anyway, his son lives in Los Angeles and while he hasn’t got a contract with the Galaxy he’s at least on the right continent now. He can hope for a trade, too. He feels awful for keeping tabs on the injury reports, watching the highlights with his eyes catching on any striker who takes a particularly hard hit.

But in the short term, he’s here. The oppressive heat of Houston feels like a noose around his neck when he’s playing and their middling record is nothing to write home about. He’s the token Englishman on the pitch, and on top of that, he’d been caught out with Liam one night after a game and been forced to be public with his relationship.

Wasn’t like he was the first in this sport, not in this country or his home, but it was still enough of a novelty that this city that’d even had a lesbian mayor was falling all over itself to prove they were more tolerant than their image. Spoiler alert: They weren’t.

Louis, though .... Louis remained angry. He’d been angry before, when he was seeing Liam in private. He’d met the nice West Midlander down the street when the baseball team had invited the soccer team for some joint marketing scheme that Liam had masterminded. He was angry that he felt trapped, that every time they met out with the team, or just down at the sports bar around the corner, that he had to watch out for every little thing. And now, he’s angry that the one time he _wasn’t_ careful, wasn’t fully aware of everything around him, the one time he _took a break_ from it all was what put him here. 

But the worst was this, his agent forwarding him e-mails of requests for him to speak about being openly gay. He’d hardly had time to sort himself out and here was someone in the Dynamo marketing department presuming to do it for him. 

Liam reads this one over his shoulder. Louis has been hate-reading it for fifteen minutes, trying to suss out what about it angers him the most. Why does it feel like there’s a weight on his chest? Why couldn’t he sleep after Liam had man-handled him into submission against his chest?

“Think it might be good for you, if I’m honest.”

That’s it, right there, and from his _lover_. “I’m _not_ gay! I don’t know what—don’t know what I am but I’m not gay.”

Liam is a bit sharp in his response, “No shame in it, I should know.”

That’s not what Louis means. Liam should know it, but it’s clear he doesn’t. “Stop being deliberately obtuse,” is what he says instead of literally anything else that would be _better_ , and Louis knows that cuts deep in Liam. He knows, but he can’t stop himself. He feels Liam move away and can picture the sad look on his face. He doesn’t turn around.

“Right then. I’m headed out, see you tonight.”

“We travel after the game,” Louis reminds him.

“Oh, that’s right.” And even though Louis is being a shit and doesn’t deserve it, Liam comes back around to kiss the top of his head. “I’ll see you in a few days. Try not to start a brawl with anyone, alright?”

Louis catches Liam around the waist and pulls him close, presses his face to his stomach and breathes him in. “I don’t deserve you, Li.”

“Oh, love.” Liam pets his hair. “Think on it, alright? When you get back we’ll have a chat about it.”

Louis clings.

\---

Liam likes the ballpark most in the hour before they open the gates. There’s some movement in concessions and there are players beginning to make their way onto the field for some time before fans show up and start calling out for them, but it’s empty. Liam takes his clipboard down to the lower level and slides into a row by himself. He thinks best in this big, empty space. He’s got Social Media night to plan and a movie tie-in night to finalize but all he can think about is Louis and how.... anguished he’d sounded.

It’s hard for him to relate to what Louis is going through. He’d never really been in the closet, as it were. Got beat up enough for it as a child but once he got to university in the States he’d taken a weightlifting class as an elective and joined a boxing club. He could take care of himself, which made being himself less of a scary thing. But he has just himself to worry about, and Louis has all those sisters. He puts a lot of pressure on himself and it breaks Liam’s heart when he thinks about it.

He picks up his phone from the cupholder in front of him and slides his password through to pull up the browser and type in a search. He’ll do what he’s always done when he’s been confused and needs to understand.

_My boyfriend says he isn’t gay_

He starts to read.

\---

It’s all he thinks about.

They’re shut out in Montreal and the mood on the plane is somber. Louis knows he’s been playing like shit and feels responsible for all of this. It’s no accident that the team’s slide began after those pictures showed up on TMZ. He’s a distraction.

He thinks about Briana and how Freddie came to be. He thinks about Eleanor and all their years together. It panics him to think that any of that had been a lie, that his emotions had been a façade or that he’d been hiding who he truly was, even from himself. He thinks about Liam and how he feels a peace with the man that he’d never felt before. Liam who is strong and warm, Liam who holds him tightly and makes him feel safe. Liam who knows just how to touch him and how to wring pleasure from his body and how to love him better than anyone else. But is that because Liam is a man? Or is it because Liam is _Liam_?

The plane reaches the ground on a bumpy landing and he doesn’t turn on his phone.

\---

Liam Payne is a patient man. Not very many things have come naturally to him, so he’s used to study and practice and he’s not easily frustrated. But Louis Tomlinson can be ... a trying individual. One he loves, but trying nonetheless. He overthinks everything, he blames himself for all his team’s shortcomings, he deflects with self-deprecating humor. He lashes out when he’s hurt. He doesn’t see how brilliant of a person he is, how loving and kind and sexy he is.

The game went into extra innings, and although he’s not required to stay until the end, he’s made it a habit. He can say to his coworkers that he’s never left a game early and leaves off that he’s only been watching the sport for two seasons. But the extra innings mean that he’s home late and Louis had arrived from the airport to an empty apartment.

The apartment is dark when he pushes open the door. Liam’s breath catches in his throat—it wouldn’t be unthinkable that Louis’s pride would spur him to clear out—but he hears movement from the master bedroom, the space they share together. Liam sets his messenger bag by the door and toes off his shoes, sussing out the type of noise he’s hearing. Sounds like ... sheets?

Liam opens the bedroom door to Louis standing beside the bed with a clean sheet wafting up to settle across the bed. “Washed the bedding, didn’t I,” Louis murmurs. “You weren’t here, so I cleaned up the kitchen and washed the bedding. Give me a hand, love?”

Liam grabs a pillow and stuffs it into a clean case. “Long game, fifteen innings. I’m sorry I wasn’t here when you got in, I know you wanted to talk—”

“Oh Liam. I don’t want to talk at all. I wish we could just all _stop_ talking about it, really. Pretend those photos never came out, that my private life wasn’t all over the newspapers, that I wasn’t getting fifty e-mails a day asking me for things I can’t give, that—” Louis cuts himself off and shakes his head. “I’ll never get traded to LA now.”

Liam finishes with their pillows and tosses them to the head of the bed. They do need to talk, but not while Louis is like this. When Louis is like this, Liam knows of one sure way to get him out of his head. “Missed you.”

“Can’t believe that, I was a right arse to you.” Louis looks up from where he’s torturing the duvet. “Sorry about that, by the way. Horrible thing to say.”

“I know you didn’t mean it. I still love you, don’t I? Still want to be with you, flaws and all. We need to work on your communication skills but let’s leave that for another time.” Liam brings his hands to his throat and starts slipping the buttons of his dress shirt through their holes. It takes thirty seconds and then he’s slipping that over his shoulders and off his arms, yanking his white tank off to follow it.

“Jesus Christ, Liam. You’ve no idea what you look like, do you?”

“Got some idea, I see what I do to you when you look at me.” Liam nods at Louis’s shorts. Louis groans and shucks off his shorts, knees his way onto the bed and reaches for Liam.

\---

Louis is right where he likes to be. His senses are full of Liam, every fucking one of them. He’s overwhelmed by it and everything else is melts from his mind. His confusion about his past relationships fizzles with Liam’s mouth on his neck. The incessant emails fade to nothingness with Liam’s hands holding his against the bed. The slurs and sneers he hears floating down from the stands during a match snap off like flipping a switch when Liam’s hips move against his own, pressing deep.

He’s going to _have_ to talk to someone about this (but not Liam; he’s got the number of a therapist), but for now it’s enough that Liam is taking care of him like he does best. At the very least he’s got that, and that’s more than enough.


End file.
